True Love By Fate
by lacanlover4Real
Summary: When the young psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan is wounded by a marauding band of anarcho-syndicalists, Slavoj Zizek swoops in to save the day. But will he save Lacan only to lose his own heart?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE – Darkness Falls**

It was a dark and stormy night. Boy, was it a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over Ljubljana, Slovenia. In his bed, Slavoj Zizek shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows.

Zizek rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a sweat-stained t-shirt, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.

The halls were silent as he walked through the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move of its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past the library, past the kitchen, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Zizek's right made him gasp in shock. A body!

'Zounds!' Zizek shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway, among the horrifying tulips.

Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young psychoanalyst of Paris, a postmodernist by the looks of him. He was clearly in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with dirt. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Zizek picked up the wounded analyst and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.

**_[A/N: OMG cliffhanger! Guess youll just have to keep reading to find out what happens next J oh and PLZ comment, I love feedback!]_**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO – Hope Never Dies**

'His situation is severe,' Zizek's dad said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.

**[_A/N: LOL ok guys not sure where Zizek's dad came from but whatever just go with it!]_**

Zizek could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young psychoanalyst might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.

Zizek's dad sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'

'I understand,' said Zizek. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'

With that, Zizek turned and hurried to the room where the wounded analyst was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of them wearing the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the psychoanalyst showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Zizek with a defeated sigh.

'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'

Zizek nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'

One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candlelight, Zizek dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured psychoanalyst's brow. Then, taking up the Analyst's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.

**_[A/N: Hi guys thanks for all the awesome comments so far! Except for you, derrida_rox49. Trolls suck and NEWSFLASH so does Derrida! Dont want to start a flame war tho lol. _****_Ok I'm busy taking exams right now so it might be a while before I post again but keep checking for updates!]  
_**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE – More Than Luck**

'Where... where am I?'

Zizek jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The psychoanalyst was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.

'You are in Slovenia,' Zizek told him. 'I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.'

'My name is Jacques Lacan,' said the psychoanalyst. 'I come from Paris. I was on an errand from my father to deliver an important message. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest when suddenly I was attacked by Noam Chomsky and his vicious band of analytic philosophers. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my copy of Freud's _Totem and Taboo_ for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.'

Zizek smiled at him. 'The stars must shine favourably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.' It was more than luck, too, that Lacan had wound up in Ljubljana and Zizek had found him. Now that they two were together, it felt almost like fate had lent a hand. Lacan was meant to be here, and Zizek was meant to have found him. Why, Zizek did not know. But it felt so certain.

It also did not hurt that Lacan was one of the most beautiful individuals Zizek had ever seen. His sleek grey hair and strikingly dark under-eye circles contrasted with his soft, bespectacled brown eyes. And his sculpted body, half-hidden by the bed linens, was a further attraction. Zizek could hardly suppress his desire to run his hands over that soft hair and perfect body. But he kept his feelings under control. Lacan had just barely survived a nearly fatal encounter. Now was not the time for romance.

**_[Author's Note: Ahhh things are getting steamy! But will our boys ever get together? Ok guys Im having a hard time thinking of how to end this so plz write suggestions in the comments. My dumb brother is always using the computer but Ill try to post an update soon. I know my writing is bad but thanks for reading! Also major props to my amazingly awesome beta panopticon43 who catches all my mistakes!]_**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR: It All Ends Here**

Within three days, Lacan had improved enough to leave his bed. Zizek's dad gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Zizek's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in Ljubljana, he had not seen Zizek at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked Zizek's dad where his son could be, but Zizek's dad had no answer. Zizek was gone without a trace.

Lacan desired to speak with Zizek again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome cultural theorist once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Zizek, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power, like maybe the desire that can only be formulated and named in the presence of the Other. He knew that Zizek was someone special. Someone he had to see again.

It wasn't until the sixth day after Lacan had recovered that Zizek returned to Slovenia. He rode up the same path where Lacan had been found, wearing the same sweaty t-shirt and dragging behind him a net filled with the heads of Chomsky and his anarcho-syndicalist pals.

'Here are your analytic philosophers!' he called to Lacan. 'I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here, whining about how continental philosophy is all style and no substance.'

Lacan stared in surprise, eyes going wide. 'You killed all of them by yourself?'

'I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,' Zizek replied. 'And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.'

Lacan could feel his heart pounding as Zizek spoke. Zizek had killed... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Zizek and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the controversial cultural theorist.

Zizek laughed in surprise, but did not pull away. 'What was that for?'

'Just a thank you,' Lacan said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Zizek's eyes, the smile faded. 'What is wrong?' he asked, worried.

'Lacan,' said Zizek, 'I have to confess something to you, something I can only articulate formulate in the presence of the Other. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then and also talk to you of the Symbolic, but I did not know how you would react.'

Lacan gasped in shock. 'The… Symbolic?'

'I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now...'

'Zizek...' Lacan sighed his name. 'I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see your hairy face again.'

Zizek lifted his hand to gently stroke Lacan on the cheek. 'I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.'

Taking a deep breath, Lacan said, 'Zizek, there is something I have been considering over the past several days. I think we were meant to find each other. What happened to me... it was no accident of fate. I was meant to come here. You were meant to rescue me from Chomsky.'

A bright smile broke across Zizek's face as soon as Lacan had spoken. 'You know,' he said, 'I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried and unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.'

Lacan took Zizek's hand. 'So you think... we are meant to be together?'

'Sometimes love feels like a great misfortune, a monstrous parasite, a permanent state of emergency that ruins all small pleasures,' Zizek offered sagely, 'but not today.' Slowly, he leaned in and kissed Lacan softly on the lips. 'I love you,' he whispered through his unkempt beard.

'I love you too, Zizek,' Lacan whispered in return.

**THE END**

**_[A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think in the comments! Also if you want more critical theory slash plz also check out my WIP story "Deconstruct My Heart" over in the Foucault/Derrida fandom!]_**


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